John laid hands on Dean when he could.
Dean would disappear, then reappear again, sliding out of a truck's cab, having ridden with a fat trucker, with his hair all messed and smelling like sex.
John would check him over for injuries, clean him up, feed him, but the kid quickly learned that the price of that soft bed and the all-you-can-eat restaurant was a trip bent over John's hard thighs followed by a review and lecture of his performance, because in spite of Dean's best efforts, John always had his own way of doing things.
"You wash that with soap and water?" John asked examining Dean's burned wrist.
"Yeah," Dean said, stiffening up when John's hands tightened.
"You going to fight me on this?" John had asked giving Dean a shove in the direction of the bed. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
"No," Dean had answered, taking off his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down his underwear and bending over. He gripped the bedspread, listening for the sound of John's belt being unbuckled or the whisper of it in his hands.
Dean learned his lesson every time. He became intimate with the thrill of sitting down and being lectured after having been violently beaten over the bare crack of his ass by the man now handing him a bag filled with soft tacos, Grilled Chicken Taquitos and a two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew Baja Blast. There was a six-pack of Budweiser too.
"You always bolt your food like a skinny dog?" John inhaled and watched the boy through the orange glow of his cigarette. He breathed deeply.
Dean reached into the take out bag again. "Well, I never know where my next meal is coming from, do I?"
"Probably from that diner down the street," John said, "tomorrow morning." He watched Dean toss his empty beer can into the trash. John stretched out but gave most of the foot of the bed to the naked teenaged boy and his food wrappers and newspapers.
"Probably." Dean wiped his chin. "Unless you get tired of me tonight. A lot can happen between now and then," Dean said. He stuffed an entire taco into his mouth in one bite, wiped his mouth on the sheet. He handed John the newspaper with the article he had circled.
"Durango, Colorado. Abandoned house in the woods, two hikers found dead of 'fright'. Mysterious, polite, dark haired boy who may or may not be undead, is being sought for questioning," John read.
Dean spoke through a mouthful of food. "We should hurry so we don't miss the seance," he grinned.
John turned the newspaper over. "This is the Weekly World News, Dean. It also has a picture of a carpet stain that looks like a weeping Jesus."
"Doesn't mean it's not a lead. Might be worth checking out."
"No it's not. I'm heading to Roswell next and you're going some place else."
"Yeah," Dean wiped his hands. "Whatever."
John carefully stamped out his cigarette. He reached down and took Dean by the arm, pulled against resistance until Dean gave in and tumbled onto his chest. John took the time to kick away the thin sheet.
"Watch your tone of voice when you're talking to me." John's arms tightened around Dean as he settled the boy more firmly in place on top of him.
"Yes sir," Dean said. John toyed with his bottom lip, biting it. Dean kept turning his face away. He spoke between John's long fingers. "Durango's only about eight hours away," he said.
John let his fingers ghost over the crack of Dean's ass. A few more pops of his belt might adjust his attitude.
"You're lucky I already beat your ass full sore," John rumbled. "Be still." He rolled Dean under him, laid on him until Dean stopped struggling.
John kissed him. When he had enough of kissing the boy's face, John slid down his body and sucked his cock. Having enough of that, John trapped Dean between his thighs. He played with his dick and smacked his ass until Dean came in his hands.
John pushed down his pants. He crawled over Dean, dragging the wet, sensitive head of his cock over the boy's full lips. "Open your mouth," he said.
John pulled out before he came to drop his load all over Dean's chest and belly.
"Leave it on you," John growled when Dean would have wiped himself off on the sheet.
Dean gave up and lay still, feeling John's come cooling on his overheated skin. He wanted to roll over and rub his ass but didn't dare, because John was sitting there across from the bed, drinking a beer and watching him.
"Tomorrow's a reset, Dean," John drawled.
"I know," Dean whispered back, closing his eyes,"but a lot could happen between now and then." His hands moved restlessly under the pillow searching for the knife he knew wasn't there. His bag was still packed and outside in John's truck.
Jacksonville, Florida. One week and 2000 miles later.
John hadn't gone looking for the kid, not right away. Durango, Colorado had been a bust. Nothing there. John turned west, then south, following Dean's trail of truck driver's and pretty, young truck stop waitresses. He was always one stop behind.
When Dean finally needed him, John took his call. He was almost there already.
"You're lucky they just tied you up," John stated dryly.
He had been standing just outside, gun sighted on the heads of the two men who in theory were teaching the boy a lesson before they left for the accelerant. John kept his hand on the trigger, just in case they decided a few rough slaps on the head weren't enough punishment. It would be a shame to splatter their brains all over Dean's pretty lips. Better to wait until they were outside. Still John could sympathize. The kid was asking for it every time he opened his mouth.
"Mr. Winchester," Dean grunted as he inched his way up the column. He was almost high enough. Fuck! Just another inch! "How long have you been standing there?"
"There's no case here," John stood calmly in the doorway and shook his head at the sight of Dean straddling the column, his hands tied above his head on a hook hanging from the ceiling. The boy had muscular legs. He watched as Dean gripped with his thighs. He slipped the ropes over the tip of the hook smiling triupmpantly.
He fell to the floor.
"What can I say? You're right. You're Batman!" Dean gave him the thumbs up from the floor and held his bound wrists out to John who took out his switchblade but stopped. He felt Dean's warm fingers. There was no hurry. Not now.
"Get up," John said hauling Dean to his feet, using the rope around his wrists as a handle.
Dean scooted his ass around out of John's reach. "Shouldn't we be going? In case they come back?"
"Distraction's not gonna save your ass, sweetheart," John said laughing, pulling Dean closer. "There's no rush." He pulled Dean's hair.
John started at Dean's head, the rough parts of his fingers catching in the boy's soft hair. John moved his hands all over the boy's shoulders, back and stomach. He checked for sore spots, places that might be wet with blood. He touched every inch of Dean, even patted him down for weapons, and found the cell phone Dean had hidden in his underwear along with a small, folding knife.
"Listen to me very carefully, Shaggy," John said holding Dean's shoulders and speaking softly into his ear. "This is a methamphetamine lab, not a haunted mansion. Those men? Not supernatural. People. People are fucking crazy. More important for my point", he gave Dean a shake, "this isn't our kind of case. Did you just rush in without any plan at all? What the hell did you think you were going to find here anyway?"
"Honestly? Drug dealer's have money. Hunting's expensive. Thought I might hustle them for some cash...."
"Shut your fucking mouth," John growled shoving Dean away. "Goddamned stupid, disobedient little fucking liar. I told you to stay with me in Phoenix and the next thing I know I'm driving to fucking Florida looking for you. Fucking Florida, Dean!"
Dean looked at the ceiling.
"Give me your hands." John cut carefully through the rope. "There. You're free to go." He gave Dean a little shove, but Dean didn't go anywhere. He stood there rubbing his wrists, his grin slowly fading.
He lowered his head and rested it against John's chest and leaned into him until John's arms came up around him. John rubbed the back of the boy's neck.
"You going to punish me?" Dean spoke into John's jacket.
"Not here," John gathered Dean up close. He kissed him, mapping the boys chapped lips with his tongue. He pulled his face far enough away that he could look into Dean's green eyes.
"I want more of that," the boy said.
"Yeah, okay," John walked Dean over to his truck. "Get in."
"Where are you going?" Dean rolled down the window when John headed back towards the house. "What if they come back?" He looked at the full can of salt in John's hand. "Oh,"he said.
"Stay where you are. That's an order, Dean."
John didn't take any gasoline with him, but ten minutes later, the smell of it igniting the house had Dean gripping the handle when he saw John cross in front of the truck.
John got in and looked at Dean. He'd needed to move the truck away from the flames. He took Dean by his shirt and pulled him across the front seat.
"They're burning," John said his lips barely touching Dean's. "Just like they planned for you."
Dean kept his eyes down. He barely breathed. "If I hadn't come?" John shook his head. "You might be screaming in agony right now, your skin turning black, cracking open, bleeding. You might even have some fantasy about the fire burning through the rope and you'd be free to escape, but it would all be a lie."
John stroked Dean's white face with the back of his fingers before starting the truck and throwing it into reverse. "Tell me the truth now, " he said driving them away, pulling the kid to his side and under one arm. "Do you have a home you can go back to?"
"Maybe," Dean said. He cleared his throat. He shot a quick look at John and angrily wiped his face on the sleeve of his hoody. "First I need to find...." Dean swallowed. "I've met a lot of hunters out here. I've got no luck. I was thinking maybe you could help me. Stupid, huh?"
"I can help you?" John couldn't help scowling. "How?"
Dean just looked at him, grinning, no longer crying, but drying his face. He finally looked away, shaking his head the way he did when he didn't want to tell an outright lie.
"Yeah, right." John said pulling into the motel parking lot. "Hey," John said, hugging Dean with one arm, putting the truck into neutral. "What do you want to eat?"
"Taco Bell," Dean said. "There's one on the main highway."
As Silver Refined